


Write me how you see me

by InvisibleGlue



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Reporter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-03 05:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15811935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvisibleGlue/pseuds/InvisibleGlue
Summary: Dylan doesn’t know if he has the best job in the world or the worst.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A definite work in progress, will update and add more when inspiration hits. Please be kind, still new at this.
> 
> skinnersmile.tumblr.com

Dylan doesn’t know if he has the best job in the world or the worst. Like, legitimately he gets to spend his time following around one of the best hockey players on the earth and write about it. Gush longingly about his crossovers and speed and eyes and hockey IQ and here he goes again. His editor had to curb Dylan’s enthusiasm for Connor’s hockey pretty much straightaway. Turns out you can’t submit three pages on the captain’s two assists of the night and a small paragraph on the rest of the team for a report on the game they lost to the Canucks. Not even for pre-season.

He tries not to think about why it’s the worst job in the world. Lingering for any amount of time over his fucking knee is just unproductive and puts him in an immediate bad mood that is very hard to get out of. He’s spent so long just wishing and saying ‘what if’ and imagining the hit never happened that he has a whole second life dreamed out in microscopic detail that he goes over in his head while in bed. If it helps him fall asleep to imagine himself tearing up centre ice with the puck, d-men long ago outclassed, just him and the goalie and a roster of moves up his sleeve before he roofs it top shelf and slams into his teammates, grin so wide his cheeks hurt, the crowds jubilation filling his ears and his coach giving him a proud nod. Well its’s not like he’s ever been accused of living a healthy lifestyle anyway.

It’s a kind of sweet pain, like being spanked, the pleasure offsetting the worst of the shock at being hit so you’re just left with the stinging and dizziness afterwards. It’s a special kind of torture but it’s not like he was ever going to be able to do anything else. 

Dylan writes the complete opposite way to the way he talks. He rambles, goes off on tangents, rushes through his sentences at breakneck speed so much that his home tutor albeit forced him to write out his thought processes for his English essays. He slowly learnt through sheer laziness that he has to write more concisely than he thinks. Writing 3 or 4 pages on ideas for his third paragraph was getting tiresome, a couple of bullet points turned into a short, flowing and informative section on just how idiotic Romeo is and he’s done. Who knew writing less would actually get him better marks. Feeling smug he loads up his Xbox to decimate some kids skiving off school. 

Although he developed the skills to write concisely, he still gets carried away when faced with such beautiful skating. After his editor put a moratorium on flowery paragraphs about Connors hockey he’s left with a lot to say and no one to read it. In the end he just writes it all out anyway, even if nobody will ever read it he just needs to get it all out and onto paper before it consumes him. Either bubbling over with fanboy glee or twisting around his ribcage, constricting his breathing. Whatever, it’s better out on paper anyway. Look at Dylan taking on his therapist’s ideas, she would be so proud. He really fucking hopes.

Connor is just the epitome of awkwardness, so uncomfortable anywhere but the ice. Dylan’s been in the scrum long enough now to notice Connor is just not going to give anything but robotic and humble answers to the same old questions he’s asked day in day out. Dylan doesn’t know where if comes from, out of pity, a sense of rescuing Connor or his own boredom of having to transcribe all this later and somehow write it in a way that people will actually want to read. Regardless of where it comes from he still blurts out in the middle of Connor’s drawling about how his team just needs to work harder to get the pucks in deeper “What’s your favorite colour?"

The silence that follows is excruciating but the smile that takes over Connor’s face is worth is, a little red and very quietly he says “It’s blue” and moves quickly on to the upcoming Battle of Alberta.  
He tries it again the next day after practice, he waits his turn this time and asks “What’s your favorite cheat meal?” Connor has the same reaction, meeting Dylan’s eyes when he’s speaking and then mumbling his answer of “homemade lasagne” to the floor. Except when the next reporter, who totally didn’t tut and side eye Dylan just then, pipes up with a question about line chemistry, Dylan finds Connor still looking at him. An inquisitive look in his eye as if he’d never laid eyes on him before. 

Dylan gets a stern warning first from the PR media guy and then his editor. It still doesn’t stop him from peppering the answers into his articles though. He does refrain from disrupting the whole scrum again though, preferring to wait until the end when everyone is packing up and moving away, catching Connor’s eye and asking random, probably invasive, definitely first date questions. Connor for the most part seems a little charmed, quickly getting used to waiting around for one last question after everyone disappears. Always a little shyer and quieter but still pretty forthcoming with his answers as if he really wants Dylan to know them. Dylan only forgets to turn on his recorder half the time, seemingly caught up in Connor’s thrall.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Think fluff may outwin angst in this one. Thanks for the comments, i love them :)

It quickly becomes his favorite part of the day. Even if Connor doesn’t do press every time, he’s worked up the familiarity to smile and nod across the room which just lights Dylan up on the inside and probably on the outside too if Connor’s smirk is anything to go by. 

So far he’s kept his completely unnecessary questions ever so slightly hockey related to avoid detection from his ever omnipresent editor and PR guy. Though he does psych himself up to ask what Connor’s favorite brand of beer is one day and he knows it’s a stupid one but he’s just intrigued to know, he fully expects the answer to be some bland weak as shit beer. But when Connor’s eyes light up in a devilish way he holds his breath.

“Whatever your buying me” Connor rushes out. He seems to want to take it back immediately if the way he looks right now is anything to go by. Probably has a lot to do with the face that Dylan is completely stunned into silence. Was that Connor making a joke, even flirting?? He quickly gathers his wits and of course promptly makes it even worse. 

“Oh..um..right, yeah of course. No, I can do that. Ok so..um..I guess maybe not tonight..y’know cos of the game. Or maybe if you win but it’s the Pens so um..wait not that I don’t think you can beat the Pens ..just erm..well there’s an off day soon..so..what about when we get to Nashville?” 

See this is why he fucking writes for a living, he has time to plan, read through, draft copies, edit, have it checked twice before it ever gets printed. He’s just a giant mess in person. God help him. Maybe he can write Connor notes. That’s a thing, right? He’s sure girls find that cute. He’s not so sure about a Captain of a hockey team though. 

He’s sure he’s bright red and he’s definitely breathing too fast and Nurse is choking back laughter but is at least looking the other way. But Connor’s smile is still there, doesn’t even look as though it ever went away. His eyes have a soft and warm look to them and he must take pity on him as he lets him know that Thursday afternoon is a good time to meet in Nashville for a drink. 

Dylan smiles too wide, nods too hard and then hightails it out of the room at breakneck speed. Jesus, he’s going to have to pull it together before Thursday if he’s going to make it through the date. Oh god, is it a date?? Fuck, Dylan hates this. He’s spent so long alone and bitter that he’s forgotten how to function in polite society. Well hockey players version of polite society anyway.

In the days leading up to Nashville, Dylan practices his breathing technique for staving off panic attacks, gets a haircut, doubles his PT efforts on his knee, buys some nicer clothes and stops asking personal questions at the end of press scrums.

He didn’t think it through, it just seemed like he didn’t need to anymore, with the promise of seeing Connor outside of a locker room he feels as if he doesn’t have to try so hard to get noticed anymore. Connor looks as though he missed the last step on the staircase when Dylan packs up with the others and starts to head out. Once he notices Connor looking confused he quickly says “See you Thursday, man” which Connor seems to acquiesce.

Dylan spent the morning walking the length and breadth of downtown Nashville to find a bar within not too far walking distance from the hotel, a quieter place where Connor won’t get recognised but not so quiet that they’ll be overheard. By the time he’s picked a place he’s exhausted and his knee is really fucking sore. He splashes out on a cab ride back to the hotel and lays down for a quick nap which he’s glad for because as when he wakes up he’s nice and calm and relaxed and all he has to do it get dressed fix his hair and go down the lobby. 

Connor’s already waiting for him and they exchange pleasantries and small talk about the weather and the season so far. After they’ve ordered drinks, Dylan makes Connor try one of the stronger local brews, he did say that his favorite was whatever Dylan was buying after all, Connor gets this sheepish look on his face.   
Dylan waits him out and Connor seems to pluck up the courage to share his thoughts though he speaks to the table and not Dylan.

“I have to tell you something and it might not be what you want to hear but I have to say it anyway.” Dylan’s breathing techniques go out the window and the blood rushes through his ears. Regardless Connor carries on.

“I remember you, from when we were younger. You were going to be drafted high and Erie had the second overall pick that year and I wanted them to pick you. I wanted to play together, be liney’s, sit on the bus together, go on a mem cup run together. I remember looking at all the prospects and wishing for you. You had this goofy smile and you were so tall, even then. I..I just thought we could have been good together. That’s all. “

“I didn’t recognise you in the press scrum till you asked my about my favorite colour. I didn’t hear anything about you at all after that hit. I didn’t know how you were or whether or not you were still around hockey. There was just nothing. I wanted to do something or say something, but we didn’t even know each other then. And now you’re here, I’m not sure there is anything I could ever say that would offer you a shred of comfort that wouldn’t sound disingenuous coming from me. Just know that I’m so proud of you, you didn’t let it defeat you, you didn’t let it scare you off hockey, you built up this amazing skill and turned it into an extremely worthwhile career. I’m so happy for you, that can’t have been easy. You’re so strong, Stromer.”

Dylan’s long given up on pretending he’s not crying and is now just openly weeping, trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t know how long they sit there, Dylan silently crying, Connor running his thumb back and forth over the back of Dylan’s hand that's resting on the table and quietly sipping his beer not saying anything. He’s so glad their waitress hasn’t been by. She’s definitely getting a big tip. 

It takes a while, but he slowly calms himself down, gets his breathing under control, covers his sleeves of his brand-new shirt in tears and snot. He doesn’t have words yet, may not for a while, but he manages a weak grin, a nod and a quiet thank-you. 

Connor smiles back, seemingly alright with sitting in silence for a little longer. While Dylan splashes water on his face and avoids meeting his own eyes in the mirror, Connor orders them the biggest plate of nachos he’s ever seen. Like Sneaky Dee’s sized plates. It’s the perfect comfort food, calorific, keeps their hands busy and so very delicious.

The topic of conversation doesn’t go anywhere near Hockey for the rest of the night and Dylan is privately glad, even if he's a little curious as to how Connor knew Dylan's hockey nickname. He’s an open wound right now and anymore reminders or trips down memory lane would have been excruciating. Connor tells stories about his brother, their dog, long weekends at the cottage, all the places he wants to visit and when Dylan feels ready he joins in with some of his own. Regardless of their almost shared past, they’re still just two guys from the GTA.

True to form, Dylan doesn’t find the words until long after he’s left Connor in the lobby with a hug so tight Connor had to tap out. He does what he does best though and writes it all out. Drafts and edits galore, he stays up half the night before he gets it right, it doesn't matter he can sleep on the plane tomorrow. So much for writing concisely though, he leaves 3 sheets of A4 folded small and tucked into Connor’s skate before the team arrives for warmups. The equipment staff he bribed give him funny looks but even with all these reminders of his knee and what could have been and their perfectly ruined date, he can’t help but smile as he watches Connor skate out onto the ice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just turning into a sapfest.

Dylan has taken to blushing around Connor now, Connor seems to be sending these shy smiles to him every time he comes into the locker room. He thinks he should pull Connor aside, tell him to stop before they both get caught out but from the looks of David the surly veteran reporter in the corner, they may be too late.

It’s a semi-regular thing now, on the road whenever there’s free time and Connor isn’t totally exhausted, or Dylan is buried in re-writes, they grab a drink or late dinner. They steer clear of Dylan’s previous hockey and concentrate on the Oilers and the rest of the league. Analyzing plays that Dylan sees from above, Connor with the ice-level view, comparing notes on who’s on a streak, which teams are looking strong. Sometimes even foregoing hockey entirely, both clearly had their fill of the sport they both love for now. 

Dylan watches as Connor comes out of his shell a little, feeling a little more confidant each time they meet, telling longer stories, holding more eye contact, cracking more jokes. It’s a wonderful thing to watch and if Dylan wasn’t already half in love with him because of his hockey well this would’ve sealed the deal. As he moves Connors beer out of the way of Connor gesticulating wildly, halfway through a story about being pranked by a teammate, Dylan takes a moment to convince himself that wanting to pursue something with Connor would be a good thing. He’s shut out almost everyone for such a long time now, either to protect himself after the injury or to protect others from him, he doesn’t know. He supposes it doesn’t really matter now anyway. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this delighted by being in someone else’s presence, he really really doesn’t want to mess this up. He thinks he’s done alright so far, by letting Connor in a little. Hearing him say all those lovely things about him before they had even met had cracked him open but he had dealt with it and not run away, like Connor had said he was strong. He thinks he could be strong some more, with a large amount of help from his therapist and some rocky road ice cream. Thank god for not having to be on a permenant diet any more. 

It’ll all hinge on Connor anyway, even if he is a little sure that Connor likes him back he’s still one of the most visble Captains in the league. There’s an almighty amount of pressure on him to succeed and lead the team to victory, he might not even want or have the energy for, a relationship behind closed doors. Dylan knows all about emotional labour.

As he zones back in to the conversation happening without him he decides it might be worth it and vows to invite Connor over to his once they’re back in Edmonton. As he gives Connor ideas for pranking his teammates back he mulls over ideas of what to order Connor for dinner. 

It was all well and good wanting to take a step further with Connor, even if they are the tiniest steps ever, but looking at his cramped 1 bedroom apartment, with it’s peeling wallpaper and stained couch he can’t help but be embarrassed. Reporters do not earn much money and he’s gone for half the season anyway he didn’t think twice about renting a place like this. But Connor signed a $100 million contract this summer and probably lives in the lap of luxury, he can’t possibly bring him here. Inviting himself round to Connor’s mansion doesn’t seem like a good idea either. He stews in his thoughts while he unpacks, frozen pizza already in the oven. By the time he’s finished eating the piece of cardboard that’s supposed to pass as a meal he’s got half a plan. 

A late-night trip to Walmart later and he’s glued the wallpaper down, got a nice Toronto skyline picture on the wall, a soft fuzzy throw for the couch, some table settings, nice plates and cutlery all laid out. It’s far from perfect but it’s the best the dismal place is going to get. He’s even hidden a nice candle holder and candles hidden under the sink just in case. He doesn’t know what kind of night it’ll be yet. 

He summons the courage to ask Connor on a day when they just have practice, the same for the following day too. He knows that the team might want to go out and relax a little but if Dylan puts this off any longer it’ll be summer, they’re schedule is just that awful. 

He makes sure that all the media are gone and most of the team are headed to the showers before he catches Connor’s eye. 

“Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to come to mine for dinner tonight? Don’t worry I won’t be cooking and we can play some xbox after or something?”

He tries not to rush out his words and make it seem like a chill bros night but he does actually want it to be more of a date night really. 

Connor agrees immediately and if Dylan worries about sounding too casual he gets a nice surprise when Connor shows up after following the directions he wrote out carefully on a post-it he left with him.

Connor shows up in a dark blue shirt and dark jeans, he even looks like he attempted to tame his hair and he smells divine. Dylan swoons.   
He takes the bottle of red that Connor brought, probably costing a months salary and goes to fetch glasses. After pouring them both a glass Dylan calls him out on the wine.

“This is really lovely wine, didn’t take you for much of a connoisseur?” 

Connor blushes and mumbles that he gave the clerk $1000 and told her to get the nicest bottle they had.

Dylan tries not to baulk at that and smiles sweetly before proceeding to make fun of the stupid stuff wine tasters come up with when drinking the stuff. 

Before long they’re in fits of giggles and it’s nice to know that all that money and status hasn’t changed Connor into a snob. He’s still just as down to earth as Dylan. After Dylan serves them some take out that's not quite within Connor’s strict diet, they finish the bottle but don’t leave the table. Xbox forgotten, they talk late into the night about anything and everything besides hockey. 

Dylan’s enjoyed himself immensely and as he’s getting Connor’s coat he thinks it couldn’t have gone any better. As he walks back in with the coat, Connor turns to face him with a serious expression and Dylan’s heart pounds. 

Connor takes the last few steps toward him and reaches up to brush his fingers along Dylan’s jaw. 

“Dyls?” Connor practically whispers to him and he knows it’s a question but he doesn’t have the words. Again. Connor seems to have that effect of him. Instead he leans in, closes his eyes and kisses Connor gently. Once, then twice and then for a bit longer. He keeps it sweet not wanting to push his luck. He didn’t expect this to happen, would still have loved the night even if Connor had taken his coat and walked out but now this. This is the perfect end to an already pretty amazing night. As he pulls away he grabs Connor’s hand ad squeezes it still wanting a point of contact, not really ready to let him out into the snow outside. 

“I like you. I really like you. A lot. I know that we can’t have anything out in the open but I’m happy to keep this behind closed doors. That is if you even want anything with me.”

He feels quite brave saying it out loud, spurred on by expensive wine probably. But it needed to be said, this clearly wasn’t a bros night.

Connor smiles up at him, red in the cheeks from the wine or the kissing or even just from finally addressing this. 

“I really like you too. A lot. And yes, we’ll have to hide, there’s no way I’m ready to come out yet and it’ll be hard, not to have you there all the time, to touch you when I want. Probably can’t be seen talking much either.” He starts frowning now and Dylan takes his other hand and starts rubbing his thumbs over the back of Connor’s hands.

“I know it might get rough sometimes, but we’ll make it work, we can sneak around, you’re always welcome over here, I have my own room on the road, we can scope out some places here in Edmonton that will look the other way. It’ll be alright, I wouldn’t risk your career if I didn’t feel this strongly. People have already seen us chatting and hanging out we can keep doing that, just won’t be able to hold your hand or kiss you goodnight.”

“Yeah, that .. that sounds like it could work.” Connor says mostly to himself. 

They stand there holding both hands, smiling giddily at each other for at least a full minute before Dylan has to kiss him again. This time when Dylan hands Connor his coat from the floor he actually puts it on. Gets all the way to the door before he kisses Dylan’s nose in the cold air and says 

“See you tomorrow” smiling widely. 

Dylan waves him off and leans against the closed door, his phone chirping brings   
him out of his stupor only to see that Connor’s text him goodnight with a heart emoji. 

Dylan doesn’t know whether to laugh, cry, skip round the room, jump up and down or lay on the floor overcome. Thinks he could do it all at once if he weren’t so worried for his knee. 

He replies the same and goes to lie in bed, sleep feeling very far away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Description of a character going through a panic attack.
> 
> Little bit of angst before the frieght train of fluff is resumed.

Admittedly, they’re not very subtle, by mutual understanding they decide not to go out too often. It ends up being a lot of takeout at one or the others houses. Dylan learns that Connor, although very rich, does not show off his wealth too much and lives in a reasonable 3 bed detached house in the middle of nowhere, most of the land is his too. 

Connor mentions offhand once when Dylan is over that he likes the quiet. Dylan can’t fault him there, it is lovely to get away from the rink, sit and listen to the wind and rain from the coziness of the sofa, Connor with his massive recovery leg pillows on and Dylan swamped in blankets. A random Sunday afternoon movie on that isn’t keeping their attention, as they snuggle into one another, occasionally trading soft kisses.

Dylan hasn’t felt this content in maybe ever. If he thinks about it long enough all his doubts and insecurities creep in and make him second guess everything. So for his sake and Connor’s, he doesn’t think about it too hard.

Turns out putting a new relationship on auto pilot and not addressing any issues leaves you open and un protected when something happens. Something like Connor hitting rough ice and slamming into the boards and not getting up immediately after. Dylan is frozen half out of his seat, the crowd might be silent but there’s a roaring in Dylan’s ears. His mind is going at 100 mph, thoughts all over the place, jumping from Connor’s smile last night, to the emergency room after his knee injury, to the look of pity on his teammates faces, to the startlingly quiet surroundings after he had screamed at everyone to leave him alone. He wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy, let alone the guy he’s falling for. 

There’s a hand at his elbow and a stern voice, he peels his eyes from the ice where at least Connor is skating off and not on a stretcher thank god, still, two trainers either side of him and no weight on his left foot doesn’t look good. The guy to his right is telling Dylan that Connor will be alright but Dylan wants to scream at him that he doesn’t know that. If Connor has to stop playing it’ll kill him, like it nearly killed Dylan. The women at his left has packed up his laptop and notebooks into his bag and put it on his shoulder for him. Dylan can barely function now, doesn’t even thank here and barely spares a glance to everyone else staring at him right now.

He knows he must look a picture given all the alarming looks he’s getting from passers by in the back corridors. Pale, shaking and sweating and struggling to string a sentence together he basically barges through security towards the locker room. He’s not concerned about outing themselves to the trainers he just needs to lay his eyes on Connor, assess the damage, prepare for the worst. He follows the timbre of voices only medical professionals use and rounds the corner and there he is.

He knows he should stay strong for Connor, be the pillar of strength he will need like his mom was for him. He takes in the ice packs, the lack of gear, the frantic energy of the trainers and rinkside doctor and ultrasound pictures on the screen and wilts. 

Oh god… oh god oh god oh god he thinks this is so much worse than he thought, his breath is coming too fast again and the now there’s a ringing in his ears instead. He’s rooted to the spot and even though Connor is talking to him, possibly even shouting at him now, he can’t process it. Can’t even take his eyes off Connor’s ankle.

Connor’s sitting up and reaching for Dylan’s hand and pulling him closer, Dylan just stumbles along, not in charge of his own body right now. Connor’s hand is really tight around his and he looks imploringly up at Dylan before repeating what he was saying. 

“I’m ok, it’s just a sprain, Dyls, I’m going to be fine, it’s alright, please take a breath, Dylan I’m ok alright, it’s going to be fine”

The relief that fills Dylan is instantaneous and palpable but his heart is still hammering, he still can’t catch his breath and he thinks that Connor shouldn’t be the one comforting him, it should definitely be the other way around, Connor’s the one that’s injured after all. 

He doesn’t want to let go of Connor at all but he really needs to sit down, the doctor is turning on him now and he wants to tell him to ignore him and concentrate on Connor but he’s out before he hits the ground. 

He comes around in a bed next to Connor, needs reminding that Connor is ok and it’s just a sprain and he’ll be out a week, two max before he even starts answering the Doctor’s questions. He’s hooked up to a bag of electrolytes and there’s some sugary snacks on a tray next to him and god don’t they make a pair right now. He huffs out a laugh but tamps it down before it turns into tears. Protests loudly while he watches Connor hobble over to his bed with one crutch holding onto everything along the way.

It isn’t until Connor is perched on his bed, foot resting on a pillow snuggling into Dylan, that Dylan feels like he can take a long deep breath and calm down. He wraps an arm around him and pulls him closer, takes a while to gather his thoughts. He feels so sheepish and embarrassed, god what kind of person loses it enough to pass out over their boyfriends sprained ankle.

They stay there like that for the rest of the game and when the team comes off the ice for the last time, one of the trainers closes the door behind her while she goes and gives updates. Privacy is hard to come by in an ice rink, he owes all these people so much. Even more still when they’re both driven over to Connor’s place with strict instructions about stairs and NSAIDs and appointments tomorrow. 

Dylan still feels rough as hell but he busies himself setting Connor up in a downstairs guest bedroom bringing him a hot drink, a few books and the remote. 

“Dylan” Connor whispers over to him. “I think we need to talk” and that just sounds so ominous but he knows he’s right. Auto pilot clearly doesn’t work.

“Dyls you took that really hard, you were scaring me I couldn’t reach you even though you were right there. I’m really worried for you, what if next time I break my leg or get a concussion. How would you react then, how would you cope? I know you’ve seen a therapist but I think you might like to continue that. I know you went through hell after your injury but it wasn’t life ending, you’re living proof that you can have a successful and fulfilling career after hockey. If I had to give it up it would hurt yes, but it wouldn’t be the end. I just want you to be at peace, I know you’ll never be happy about it but able to deal in these situations might be nice?” 

Dylan just kisses him and god what is it with Connor and truth bombs and ripping through Dylan’s carefully cultivated façade and avoidance techniques.

Connor breaks off the kiss to whine at him. “Dyls, come on, talk to me”

“I know, I know. I’m really so sorry about scaring you I never meant to do that, never want you to be scared of me”

“For you” Connor buts in.

He smiles back at him but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I dunno, I thought I was doing ok, I could watch hockey and most of the time it wouldn’t tear me apart. But, lately with you, I’ve been feeling so much, I care so much about you, that when I saw you on the ice that all just bubbled over. I know I wasn’t thinking straight, kept seeing my mom and doctors from my surgery and I know that’s not right so yeah I could probably work on that but I don’t want to feel any less for you. You’re incredibly important to me and I don’t want to lose that, I thought I could keep my feelings for you separate from hockey but tonight proves that I can’t. I do want to be better, for you as much for me.”

“So proud of you” he hears back and gets a kiss for his efforts.

“Ok” Connor yawns “enough soul bearing for one night, I’m exhausted.”

They get comfy while still protecting Connor’s ankle, snuggling together like something might try and split them up. 

Dylan lies awake listening to Connor’s soft breathing, mulling over just how much he loves this man. That’s one thing he won’t avoid, he wants Connor to know just how much of an amazing impact he’s had on Dylan’s life, how he’s brought Dylan out of his self loathing shell and shown him so much love that it would be impossible to not love him back, beautiful skating notwithstanding. 

He takes a deep breath and snuggles closer. Baby steps, he thinks. He’ll call his therapist in the morning, despite the complete meltdown tonight he’s hoping she’ll be happy to see him, he thinks he has made some progress at least. 

Who knows if he’d have gotten there on his own, but Connor is just the right motivation. He’d walk to the ends of the earth if it made Connor proud of him. 

Baby steps, like a morning cup of coffee, a phone call and a trip to the doctors. They’ll heal together, even if Dylan will take a lot longer than Connor. Thinks they can look forward to the future and be excited for what’s to come and that’s a pretty nice feeling to fall asleep with whilst in the arms of someone you love.


End file.
